Anniversary
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Max remembers a special day from the past.


Anniversary

Max sat up in bed and swiped the back of his hand across his eyes to clear the tears. His dream had been so vivid, it made the ache in his heart even worse. Ruthie had been _right_ there next to him, her fingers gently entwined in his. He'd just reached over to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. _Same color_ as Tempe's, he thought sadly. Today would have been their 43rd anniversary.

Unbeknownst to his son or daughter, such dreams awakened Max several times each year, around the significant dates he had shared with his wife…the kids' birthdays and hers. After the couple had fled just before Christmas, Ruth had been the one plagued by dreams. During that year and a half, she had never stopped missing her family. Russ and Tempe especially, but her parents and sisters as well. Max's parents were already gone, but Ruth regretted that her children could no longer visit their doting Mema, Gramps, or aunts. Russ, of course, remembered them a little, but Tempe was too young for any such memories.

Max got up and headed to the bathroom, flushed, and got a drink of water. Returning to his far-too-empty bed, he took a stab at straightening the rumpled sheets, punched his pillow, and laid back down. He glanced at the bedside clock. 3:40 a.m. Sigh. He doubted that sleep would return. His wife had been a force to reckon with; definitely the brains of their lockbox pilfering operation. Her instincts for checking out the banks they targeted, and assessments of possible risks were always spot on.

She was thorough and careful to a fault, taking more precautions than he ever would have on his own. It was her idea to hide Augustus Harper's diary and the audio tapes they'd found at the Buckeye Savings and Loan in Tipp City. Grabbing his wrist, Ruth had further urged him to remove several pages from the little book and one of the tapes before they closed the Home Federal lockbox in Kettering. Entrusting those items to Harold Farling for safekeeping had been a brilliant idea.

She was still protecting him from beyond the grave. His train of thought brought a chuckle. Max had seen Tempe's Wonder Woman costume when he babysat little Christine during a Jeffersonian Halloween Gala. Her mother could've claimed that title as well. Ruth was an extremely resourceful, fiercely protective momma bear when it came to her family.

It was too bad, Max mused to himself, that Booth had never had the chance to meet his Ruthie. The two of them would have gotten along famously, sharing the same incisive 'gut' intelligence that his daughter disdained. It felt odd to remember her by that original name, after years of insisting on 'Christine' and 'Matt'. He pushed down the memory of her whispering 'Max' in his ear as they made love in the darkened bedroom of their snug little house; kids safe in bed down the hall. He had never trusted himself to indulge in that luxury. Just like ingraining 'Russ Brennan' a hundred times with Kyle; he couldn't risk a slip of the tongue.

Turning over in bed, Max pulled the blanket up. July 18, 1969 had been a hot, muggy day. Just the two of them at the Clay County courthouse, filling out the marriage license paperwork Mabel Henderson had handed them, before meeting Judge Maxwell in his chambers. Mabel and Tom Anderson, the bailiff, had stood up as their witnesses. After the brief ceremony, the motherly clerk had hugged Ruth as Tom shook hands with Max. They thanked the judge, who nodded and smiled, and left the courthouse hand in hand.

Reaching the parking lot, he opened the car door for her. Taking her seat in Max's 1960 Falcon, Ruth had grinned mischievously, pulled him down, and planted an exuberant kiss on his lips. They headed back to Jacksonville before stopping at the Lakeside Cafe for lunch. Popular with college students in the area, its food was good and the prices were cheap. Their honeymoon suite was a room at the Travel Lodge.

The next day, they had returned to Max's small apartment, and spent the weekend rearranging things as they watched the grainy images of Armstrong and Aldrin bouncing across the moon's surface. (Years later, seeing it again with the kids, as Max explained to Russ how the moon's lack of gravity caused them to 'jump', Tempe had piped up with Newton's second law.)

He had noticed Ruth during an evening political science class the fall semester of 1968; both were attending night school at St. John's River Junior College. _The prettiest girl he'd ever seen._ It had taken him three weeks to work up the nerve to ask her out; an invitation to grab a burger after their study group session. Her vivacious spirit grabbed his heart and never let go.

She worked as a bookkeeper in the college registrar's office; he was an electrician's apprentice during the day. He had nearly completed the arduous five-year IBEW training program, and soon the money and steady union jobs would be good. Maybe someday he'd finish a science teaching degree. For now, wiring installations would feed the young love of his life.

Shortly after graduation from Salisbury High School, Max thought he had left the frigid winters and memories of Pennsylvania behind forever. Vince McVicar's sudden disruption of their successful life in hiding, determined pursuit of him and Christine, and violent confrontation had changed all that. Their desperate struggle to escape his clutches had gone badly. McVicar struck Christine in the forehead with his trademark pig stunner despite Max shoving her aside during the assault. Once he'd knocked Vince unconscious, the panicked couple shoved the thug from their car and drove off, aghast at his blood soaking the seats around them.

Christine's forehead healed after a time, but her persistent excruciating headaches forced him back to familiar ground when Tylenol no longer helped. Uncle Bird and Aunt Minnie sheltered them; a long-time LPN, she had examined Christine and put her to bed upstairs in the isolated Somerset County farm house. A couple days' rest had helped and the couple had splurged to see The Fugitive at the Rialto Theater in Johnstown, thinking they could move on soon, perhaps find work in Philly, and disappear among its millions of residents. Or live in a small town nearby.

But her headaches worsened and she lapsed into unconsciousness as a subdural hematoma bled on, undetected. Three days later, despite his exhausted prayers and sleepless vigil, Christine silently slipped away. Once Bird and his cousins had helped bury her at the edge of old Sunset Cemetery, Max moved to Coos Bay, as far away as possible.

The heartsick Oregon electrician now named Art McGregor didn't dare contact his kids. Tracking them as best he could was not nearly enough. But Max had considered them at least safely anonymous until Christine's bones were pulled for analysis at the Jeffersonian in 2005. Tempe's shock and Booth's recognition had changed all that. The rabbit hole opened by Christine Brennan's 1978 court testimony had ensnared his family all over again.

Max didn't regret killing Delaney or Kirby, or jail, or the trial. He would go through all of it again to keep his children and theirs safe. Taking Tempe on the run with Harland's help, attempting to kill that witch Taffett and the slimy worm Pelant? He'd do so again without hesitation to safeguard Booth, his daughter, and their talented team of geniuses. All who had fought tirelessly on behalf of his family. He was especially fond of Cam with her Bronx moxy. And Ms. Caroline Julian? Ah, one fine prosecutor and woman, in so many ways. Despite her mighty attempt to convict him…

Immersed in painful reverie, tossing and turning, Max finally propped himself up on one elbow, reached back for his pillow, and flipped it over in search of a cool spot for his head. He closed his eyes again, and waited for sleep. Another glance at the clock; 4:52 am. Resigned to wakefulness, he clambered out of bed, favoring his left knee, and padded to the kitchen to start the coffeemaker.

While waiting for it to brew, he leaned against the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and stared at the ceiling. "Happy Anniversary, Honey. I wish you were here. I know you can see how well Tempe turned out from up there, but you'd really like Booth. And I know he'd like you. And that little sprite sharing your name? Oh boy, would she capture your heart!"

He poured his first cup of the day, took a quick shower, scrambled into khakis and a polo shirt, checked the time, and reached for his phone. 6:15 am. Tempe would be awake dressing the kids.

"Honey, how bout meeting me for lunch today? It was a special day for me and your mom. I've got a few stories, if you're interested. Okay, great! 11:30 at the Diner. Yeah, yeah, bring Booth too, if he wants. See you then. Love ya, Tempe-girl."

 **A/N: At least for now, this is a one-shot story.**


End file.
